The Office Shemale Who Had Them on Their Knees

It was past a quarter after ten at night when Camila closed the reception drawer and switched off the last screen. The building had been almost empty for an hour: only the dull hum of the fluorescent lights over the deserted desks remained, along with the distant beep of the elevator answering some floor no one should have been occupying at that hour. Her heels—fifteen hours in them, black, stiletto, with the ankle strap threatening to leave a blister for the next day—had turned her feet into two live coals. Every step from the desk to the staff room was an ascending torture that ran up her calves and ended by driving itself into her hips like a thin nail.

But it was the other discomfort, the one sewn to her body since morning, that kept her stomach tense.

Under the fitted, professional graphite pencil skirt, the thong’s fabric pressed against the half-erect cock her body produced without asking permission. The glans was sticky with the fluid that had leaked out of her throughout the day, rubbing against the damp cotton every time she took a step. Her sweaty balls were squeezed between her thighs by the pressure of the tight lingerie. The constant physical reminder of the distance between what she projected to the world and what she hid underneath. Camila knew that feeling so well she had learned to ignore it during the day, turning it into a kind of low-intensity fuel that burned slowly and without a visible flame. She had perfected it over seven years of working with the public.

What she had never managed to ignore was the way some men looked at her.

Not all of them. Only some. And always in the same way: they started with her face, moved down to her chest, continued lower, and then raised their eyes again with something different in them. An unasked question. A half-formed certainty they didn’t know whether to confirm or leave alone. The question of whether, beneath the pencil skirt, what they could make out was what they suspected.

Marcelo was the first to appear in the hallway. In his forties, wearing a pinstriped suit with the jacket unbuttoned and his tie loosened halfway down his chest, his several days’ growth of beard gave him the look of a man who no longer needed to make an effort in front of anyone. She had seen him chair meetings with that deep voice that neither asked for validation nor expected it. That night, he wasn’t going to chair anything.

—Leaving already, Camila? —he asked, resting his shoulder against the doorframe. His gaze dropped for a second, calculated and making no attempt to disguise it, stopping exactly where the skirt stretched over the bulge—. I was going to stay a while with the guys. A few beers, some music. No agenda, you know. After hours.

Two more appeared behind him.

Sebastián, from marketing, with the crooked smile of someone who knows he’s attractive and manages it without any apparent effort. Julián, from the technical department, quieter, his dark eyes fixed on her with an attention that had nothing innocent about it. All three had been looking at her that way for weeks, and Camila knew because she paid attention to that sort of thing. She had heard fragments of conversations cut short when she entered a room. She had seen messages on poorly turned screens. They knew enough for their curiosity to have become something more concrete. They knew she had a cock and wanted to check.

Camila felt heat rise from her sternum to the base of her neck. And a little lower, a jolt that tightened the fabric of her thong.

—My feet are killing me —she said, and her voice came out raspier than she intended, exhaustion mixed with something she preferred not to identify aloud—. It’s been a very long day.

Marcelo sketched a slow smile, one that never quite became a smile.

—Then take them off. There’s no one here to judge anything.

Sebastián crossed his arms. Camila could see perfectly well how the bulge in his dress pants was already showing through the fabric.

—We know you’re different, Camila. We like that. More than like it, actually.

She looked at them in silence, one by one. Marcelo, with his executive arrogance worn down by the day. Sebastián, with that calculated confidence that never quite switched off. Julián, who still hadn’t said anything, his eyes locked on her as if he were already counting how long it would be before she made a decision.

Her heart was pounding, but the inner voice that sometimes warned her to leave, that it wasn’t a good idea, that her body couldn’t take it, was conspicuously quiet that night.

In its place was something else. Colder. Cleaner. Hotter between her legs.

—All right —she said at last—. But I set the conditions. And if any of you go too far, you leave. Understood?

All three nodded almost at once.

***

The conference room smelled of morning coffee and printed paper. They had lowered the blinds before entering. The only light came from the emergency strips along the floor and the bluish glow of a forgotten laptop in the corner of the long table. On the whiteboard at the back, the remains of a Wednesday presentation still lingered, half-erased, with a bar graph that no longer had any context or meaning.

Camila entered last. She closed the door carefully. She slid the bolt. She took off one heel calmly and let it drop onto the carpet. The sound was dry, definitive. The other followed. Then she sat on the edge of the glass table, crossed her legs, and looked at them.

—First I want to see you. Naked. All of you. I want to see what you’re bringing.

The three men looked at one another for a second, that moment of male calibration she had always found curious, as if they needed to confirm among themselves that the situation was real. Then they began.

Marcelo was the first to loosen his tie and get rid of his jacket. His shirt fell to the floor without being folded. He lowered his trousers and underwear at the same time, with the hurried clumsiness of someone who had been thinking about that moment longer than he was willing to admit. His cock sprang forward already completely hard, thick, with the dark glans showing from beneath the pulled-back foreskin and a large vein running along its underside. Sebastián unbuttoned his shirt from the top, one button at a time, with the efficiency of someone who had done it many times without thinking; underneath, he had a smooth chest and a tattoo on his forearm that had never been visible beneath the long sleeves of formal meetings. When he lowered his trousers, his was longer than Marcelo’s, somewhat thinner, with a pink, wet glans at the tip. Julián was clumsier, or perhaps more nervous; he undid his belt directly and let his trousers fall without any solemnity. The one between his legs was the darkest of the three, shorter but noticeably thick, with heavy, low-hanging balls.

Three men standing in front of her. Three hard cocks pointing at her. And none of them pretended it was anything else.

Camila studied them without haste. Marcelo’s chest, with the dark hair running down to his navel and continuing to the thick bush of his pubic hair. Sebastián’s slimmer body, his defined abs, his cock lightly bouncing against his stomach every time he breathed. Julián, shorter and broad-shouldered, with brown skin and large, motionless hands at his sides, restraining himself from touching.

She bit her lower lip for a moment.

Then she stood, hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her thong, and lowered it slowly without taking her eyes off the three men. The fabric tangled around her thigh for an instant. She lifted her skirt in a slow gesture, gathering it up to her waist, and held it tight against her stomach.

Her cock came into view. Hard, medium-sized, the skin stretched taut and the glans wet, a drop of pre-cum hanging from the tip and sliding slowly down. Beneath it, her balls drawn up against her body. Her long, shaved legs, her firm thighs shaped by the heels.

The silence that followed lasted perhaps four seconds.

—My God —Sebastián murmured, and without thinking he put a hand on his own cock, gripping it at the base.

Julián said nothing. He swallowed. Camila saw his Adam’s apple move in his throat.

Marcelo took a step forward.

—Stop —Camila said.

He stopped dead.

—Kneel.

And he did. The executive who had chaired an annual-results meeting the previous week dropped to his knees on the carpet with the same naturalness with which he signed documents. Now he looked up and she looked down, and neither of them pretended it was anything other than what it was.

—Suck me —she said, and the verb came out cleanly, without hesitation—. Slowly. I want to feel your tongue, not your teeth. If you speed up without me telling you to, I’ll stop and give it to someone else. Is that clear?

—Yes —Marcelo said, his voice changed.

—Open your mouth.

He opened it. Camila gripped her cock with one hand and rested it on his tongue, without putting it all the way in yet. The wet glans left a shiny trail on his lower lip. Marcelo closed his eyes for an instant.

—Look at me —she ordered.

He opened them.

—Now.

The warmth of his mouth was immediate and complete. Camila gripped the edge of the table with her other hand and let her head fall back for a second, her loose hair brushing her shoulder blades, before lowering it again so she wouldn’t miss the spectacle. Marcelo had started with the tip, carefully licking the glans, gathering the pre-cum with his flat tongue before taking half her cock into his mouth. His tongue worked with honest clumsiness—too much pressure at certain moments, too much rhythm at others—but his obvious willingness made up for everything else.

—Slower —Camila repeated, grabbing his hair with her free hand—. Hollow your mouth. Make a space with your tongue. Like that.

He corrected himself. Saliva began to spill from the corners of his mouth and run down his chin to his bare chest. Camila thrust her hips forward, giving him control over how much went in, and her cock slid to the back of his throat. Marcelo swallowed. Coughing for a second, he opened his mouth wider again.

—That’s it. Good boy. All the way down.

Sebastián approached from behind without being asked. He brushed the hair away from her neck with two fingers and bit the skin between her shoulder and ear, his teeth applying pressure that didn’t quite hurt but didn’t disappear either. Camila felt Sebastián’s rock-hard cock digging into the small of her back through her raised skirt, leaving a hot trail of fluid on the bare skin of her hip. He began unbuttoning her blouse from the top, one button at a time, without rushing. When he opened the fabric, he grabbed her tits with both hands and pinched her nipples at once, pulling them with just enough force to make Camila moan around the cock Marcelo had in his mouth.

—Fuck, they’re so hard —Sebastián murmured against her ear, rubbing his cock against her ass over the skirt—. I’ve been imagining them for months.

—Then look at me now —she said, turning her head to look at him—. And learn.

Julián stayed where he was, watching, slowly squeezing his cock in his hand. Waiting for instructions.

—Come here —Camila said, pointing with two fingers to a spot directly in front of her face—. I want yours in my mouth while he sucks mine.

Julián obeyed without speaking. He came close enough to leave his thick glans a handspan from her lips. Camila stuck out her tongue and licked the tip, gathering the drop of pre-cum hanging there, then took him completely into her mouth in a single movement that made Julián close his eyes and let out the first moan of the night.

—That’s it, like that —Camila murmured as she pulled him out for a second—. You’ve got a beautiful cock. Nice and wide. Put it all the way in.

And she put him back in by herself.

***

What followed was an unrehearsed choreography. Camila directed it with short, precise instructions, and the three men listened with an attention that had nothing servile about it: it was closer to recognition, the kind that happens when someone knows exactly what she wants and has no doubts about asking for it.

—Sit there —she told Marcelo, pulling her cock from his mouth with a strand of saliva hanging between them. She pointed to the straight-backed chair at the far end—. That one.

He obeyed. He sat with his legs spread and his cock pointing at the ceiling, shining with her saliva, swollen and throbbing to the rhythm of his pulse.

—Wet it properly —Camila said, spitting into her palm and lowering herself toward him. She gripped his cock with her saliva-covered hand and stroked him slowly, from base to glans, spreading the natural lubricant along his entire length—. I don’t want to go in dry.

She hiked her skirt up to her waist. She turned her back to Marcelo and positioned herself on top of him facing away, one hand on the chair’s armrest to steady herself, the other guiding his cock toward her asshole. She pressed the glans against the opening and stayed there for a second, breathing, letting the warmth of the foreskin ease her entrance open a little before she pushed.

—Don’t move —she murmured—. I set the pace. If you come before I tell you to, you’ll never fuck me again. Understood?

—Understood —Marcelo said, his voice raspy.

She began to lower herself. Inch by inch. The glans pressed, gave way to the first ring of muscle, and began to enter. The heat was intense, the friction even more so, the burning right on the boundary between pain and pleasure. She clenched her teeth and let the air out through her nose very slowly, measuring every second, allowing her body to get used to having him inside. When she reached the bottom and felt Marcelo’s balls against her ass, she let out a long moan, her eyes half-closed.

—Fuck —she murmured—. You’re so thick.

Her own cock had become rock-hard again in front of her, poking out between her raised skirt and stomach, dripping.

Sebastián knelt behind her without being asked, sensing what was needed. The tongue she felt between her thighs was cold at first, exploring cautiously, licking beneath her balls while Marcelo’s cock remained buried in her ass. Camila involuntarily clenched her muscles in response, and Marcelo groaned beneath her. Then Sebastián’s tongue moved up her perineum, tracing the space between her balls and asshole, licking in circles around the point where Marcelo’s cock opened her hole.

—Oh, fuck, keep going —Camila moaned—. Right there.

Sebastián continued. He slipped his tongue between her ass and Marcelo’s cock, licked Marcelo’s balls as he passed, then moved back up to the stretched opening, licking the edges where the skin tightened around the penetration. Every sweep of his tongue sent a lash of sensation up her spine.

Julián positioned himself standing in front of her. His cock was at exactly the right height for Camila to lick it without bending too far. She took it in her hand and began sucking him, setting the pace herself, lowering her head slowly until his glans struck the back of her throat, then rising again. Julián placed one hand on the back of her neck, not pushing, simply leaving it there.

They began to move.

Slowly at first. She set the rhythm: when she raised her hips, letting Marcelo’s cock slide out until only the glans remained; when she dropped suddenly, impaling herself all the way down; how she tilted her pelvis to feel him deeper; what was allowed and what wasn’t. The three men responded to her body with the concentration she had only ever found in men who understood that pleasure was not a right but a consequence of paying attention.

—Like that —she said when something worked.

—Stop —she said when it didn’t.

And they stopped.

—Harder —she ordered Marcelo at one point, gripping both armrests to gain leverage—. Push from underneath. Fuck me for real.

Marcelo dug his hands into her hips and began thrusting from below, lifting her ass from the seat with every stroke. The dry slap of his balls against her, the wet sound of penetration, the four of them moaning together. Sebastián had to pull away for a second, but he came back immediately, now licking her nipples from behind, one hand reaching around to squeeze Camila’s cock and stroke it slowly in time with Marcelo’s thrusts.

—Fuck, you’re leaking so much, like you’re about to come already —Sebastián murmured against her neck, showing her the shiny fingers he had just withdrawn from Camila’s glans.

—Suck your fingers —she said without stopping her sucking of Julián.

Sebastián put two fingers into his mouth and licked them.

—Tastes good.

—Next time I’ll swallow you whole.

Camila refocused on Julián. She had him right on the edge. She could tell from the tension in his balls whenever she squeezed them with her free hand, from the way his hips jerked involuntarily.

—Don’t come yet —she warned him, pulling him out for a second and looking him in the eyes—. I want it on my face, not in my mouth. And I want it at the end, not now.

—Fuck —he murmured—. All right.

She moved him aside for a moment and gestured to Sebastián.

—You, come here. Get out from behind me. Stand in front.

Sebastián rose from the floor, his cock hanging heavily and dripping, glossy with his own saliva. He stood in front of her, in the same place Julián had occupied a second earlier.

—Yours too —Camila said, gripping both cocks at once, one in each hand. She pressed them together and began sucking Sebastián’s glans first, then Julián’s, alternating, licking the place where they touched, taking both tips into her mouth at once when she could—. I want both together.

Meanwhile, Marcelo continued fucking her from below, slower now because she had ordered him not to finish too soon, but burying his cock to the hilt with every thrust and making her moan around the cocks in her mouth.

Sweat formed a line down her spine to her coccyx. Her own moans mixed with those of the three men, all different in timbre and urgency. Marcelo grunted from his chest with every thrust from below, Sebastián panted through clenched teeth, and Julián gave an almost continuous deep moan. The conference room filled its usual institutional silence with a density the room had never possessed during regular working hours. The sales graph remained on the whiteboard, indifferent to the wet sound of cocks moving in and out, to the smell of sex and sweat already beginning to permeate the carpet.

Camila felt the orgasm building from below, slowly and without hurry, like a pressure filling a tank that took a long time to reach the brim. It rose from her open, pulsing asshole around Marcelo’s cock, traveled through her balls, and gathered at the base of her cock. She remained on the edge longer than she could have anticipated, savoring that tension that was half physical sensation and half something harder to name: the pleasure of having three men accustomed to taking up space, to making the world revolve around their decisions, now waiting for her instructions with genuine attention, their cocks hard in her hands or inside her body, not moving until she decided.

She pulled both cocks from her mouth. She braced herself against the armrests. She raised herself slightly to get the right angle.

—Now, all of you —she ordered—. Marcelo, fuck me hard. Like there’s no tomorrow. You two, on my face, both at once. Come when I come.

Nothing more needed to be said. All three understood.

Marcelo dug his fingers into her hips and began thrusting from below at a pace she no longer controlled, lifting her ass from the seat with every push, his cock entering her to the hilt, his balls striking hers with a wet, constant sound. Sebastián and Julián stood on either side of her face, stroking themselves rapidly, their cocks inches from her lips and cheeks.

Camila gripped her own cock with the hand she had left free and began jerking it rapidly, synchronizing herself with Marcelo’s thrusts from below. The orgasm arrived long and shuddering, spasms running up her back from her hips to her shoulders. The first jet shot over Sebastián’s shoulder and splattered the presentation board, leaving a white droplet over the bar graph. The second landed on her own stomach. She kept coming in spasms, moaning with her mouth open.

She felt Marcelo tense beneath her at the same time, his cock swelling inside her a second before the inner heat she recognized without words arrived: the first jet of semen against the wall of her ass, then the second, then a weaker third, his cock throbbing with every release.

—Fuck, fuck, fuck —Marcelo panted against the back of her neck—. Fuck, that ass, fuck.

Sebastián was next. She had seen it coming from the way his hand had sped up. The first jet landed on her cheek and lip, hot and thick, sliding down her chin. The second stained her neck. Camila stuck out her tongue and licked his glans to collect the last drops, looking him in the eyes.

—Good boy —she murmured—. You lasted well.

Sebastián laughed breathlessly.

Julián was last; Camila looked directly at him when it happened, never taking her eyes away, mouth open and tongue out. The first jet went straight into her mouth, and she swallowed it. The second fell onto her other cheek, mixing with Sebastián’s. The third stained her chest. Camila never stopped looking at him, and that seemed to be exactly what Julián needed to shake with a deep moan from his gut, his knees buckling until he had to brace himself against the table.

Camila stayed that way for a moment. Her face covered in the semen of the other two, her own sliding down her stomach, Marcelo’s cock still buried in her ass, slowly losing its hardness as it pulsed with the last remnants of his orgasm inside her. She closed her eyes. She let out her breath very slowly.

Then, without hurry, she lifted her hips and felt the soft cock slide from her hole, followed by a thread of warm semen running down the inside of her thigh. She collected it with two fingers and brought them to her mouth, watching Marcelo as she licked them clean.

***

When it was all over, the room smelled of human heat, sweat, semen, and exertion. Camila took her time. She took a couple of tissues from the box on the glass table and calmly cleaned her face, wiping the semen from her cheek, neck, and lip. Another tissue for her stomach. Another for the inside of her thigh. She folded them and threw them into the trash along with the wrapper of a candy that had been there since Monday. She picked up her thong from the floor, folded it, and put it in her purse—she had no intention of putting it back on like that. She adjusted her skirt with both hands. She buttoned her blouse, two middle buttons that had been left open and another at the top that had come undone at some point. She retrieved her heels from the carpet and put them on standing up, first one, then the other, with the same calmness with which she had taken them off half an hour earlier.

The three men were still sitting or reclining, their soft cocks hanging, exhaustion visible in their postures and in the way they avoided looking at one another.

Marcelo was the first to speak.

—That was…

—I know —Camila said without turning around.

She checked her hair in the dark reflection of the digital whiteboard’s switched-off screen. It looked acceptable. Then she picked up her purse from the floor and slung it over her shoulder.

—You have a team meeting on Thursday —she said, facing them—. Don’t be late.

Sebastián let out a low laugh, the kind that comes when something is truer than it should be.

Julián ran a hand over his face—smearing his palm with a trace of his own semen that had remained on his chin—and smiled slowly.

Marcelo nodded without taking his eyes off her.

Camila switched off the emergency strip as she left. In the hallway, the fluorescent lights continued humming with their usual indifference, unaware of everything that had happened on the other side of that door. She pressed the elevator button and waited with her purse hanging from her forearm, watching the numbers above the doors. She could still feel Marcelo’s semen inside her, slowly leaking out with every step.

When the doors opened and she entered, she saw herself reflected in the brushed-steel mirror inside: the marks of Sebastián’s teeth on her neck, her hair loose, her blouse no longer quite the way it had been that morning. The blister from the heel could wait until tomorrow.

She smiled.

The tension from before had disappeared. There was no pressure, no dull weight of carrying her body like a suit that never quite fit properly. Only the clean exhaustion of someone who knew exactly what she wanted and had achieved it that night.

The doors closed.

The elevator descended silently toward the ground floor.